Just Feel Better
by therentkid
Summary: Roger gets really sick one night, and everybody realizes that it has to get worse before it gets better. Feedback is lovely & very appreciated.
1. Chapter 1

I jumped out of the shower as soon as I heard the thud. I didn't know who or what it was, but it didn't sound good either way. I quickly pulled up a pair of Collins' old sweatpants without drying off and put on my glasses in what seemed like one deft movement. 

"Mark!" Roger said from somewhere within the loft.

I didn't know where he was, I knew that I left him in his room aimlessly strumming _Muesta's Waltz_.

"Roger?" I called out. I peaked into the kitchen and checked the fire escape. No Roger. I checked both our rooms. Still, no Roger.

I heard him call my name out again, from just down the hallway. I followed a trail small dark spots on the floor to where he was. Roger was curled up in the corner next to the mismatched end table and doorway to my black room. He was shaking uncontrollably and sweating profusely.

"Roger, what happened?" I asked. I bent down beside him and wrapped my arm around his waist.

"I couldn't make it to the bathroom, Mark." Roger mumbled. "I tried, but I couldn't."

"It's okay." I said. Roger tried to protest my picking him up, but I really could care less if I got sick. "Hold onto me." I told him. He weakly gripped at my neck, his fingers were barely touching me.

I didn't know where to go from there. The phone was cut off earlier today - I bought AZT instead of paying the bills this time around. Collins was supposed to be in by now, but he wasn't. With Roger still in my arms, I struggled over to the couch. I put him there and ran out onto the fire escape. I shouted out into the night, hoping Collins was waiting for the keys or that Mimi was taking a smoke outside her window.

Collins voice shouted back up at me. I told him that we needed an ambulance, and I threw the spare key down to him.

"Mark, there's something wrong with me." Roger said softly. He started to attempt to get up, and I pushed him back down.

"Collins is calling an ambulance. Everything is going be alright." I tried to be comforting, but the words sounded strange and strained to my ears.

"No it's not. I think I'm going to be sick." Roger said.

I helped him over to the toilet where he emptied the contents of his stomach out at. The sounds of his retching were horrific. They didn't sound the same as the ones he would have with a hangover or during his withdrawl. And blood came up. It scared the shit out of me.

After a while he stopped long enough for me to drag his fully clothed body into the shower. It proved to be harder than I thought, peeling soaking wet clothes off in the shower. I helped him get slightly clean, and then dried. By the time I was able to slip on a pair of sweatpants on him, Collins was at the door.

"I called an ambulance and I can hear the sirens getting closer." he said, at the doorway. He helped me get Roger back to the couch, where I sat holding him until the paramedics burst through the loft door, talking in their unrecognizable jargon.

**This is short, but I definitely will post the next chapter up tomorrow. I already have it written out, just have to type it. Hope you liked it. Feedback is lovely.**


	2. Chapter 2

Everything in the hospital room made me feel like I was Alice in Alice in Wonderland. I could hear each and every machine that was hooked up to Roger. The oxygen mask with it's slowly maddening pace. The heart rate monitor that beeped in a monotone way. The IV drip splashed. Everything seemed amplified to the hundredth power. Everything. Every fucking little thing. 

And it was driving me mad.

Roger had been asleep for a couple of hours now. The doctor given him something to sleep. He also gave me a prescription to be filled for myself, saying that it was something I could probably use a little later. Whatever that was. I'm supposing that it was some kind of sedative, which normally I would have shied away from. But instead, I slipped it between the band of Collins' sweatpants and my skin.

I sat there and watched him, the rising and falling of his chest - it made it hard to fight off sleep.

"Hey Mark." Collins said. My head popped up. I wasn't in the loft, sitting at the cold table, clutching a cup of burnt coffee. I was in the hospital, hold Roger's hand, a needle in the translucent looking skin.

"How long have I been asleep?" I asked. I let go of Roger's hand and rubbed my temples.

"About an hour. Go home. Get some real sleep. It's been a long night," Collins suggested. " I called Mimi and Joanne, they're already here. Maureen's going to be here in a few hours. The traffic in New Jersey is 'bumpa ta bumpa' she told me."

I shook my head. That's Maureen for you. Slightly loud, obnoxious. Overdramatic at times. Correction, a lot of the time. Not that I have anything against her. But sometimes she can be too much. And that 'too much' I didn't want right now.

Collins offered me an encouraging hand, which I took. My hand was like a child's compared to his. And He held me in a comforting embrace for a minute. It felt nice being the one who wasn't calling the shots for once. I had forgotten how comforting Collins could be, since he started teaching again.

I let go sheepishly and scratched my head. I didn't want to leave Roger there, but Collins was just as good as I was. I walked out the door and stopped hesitantly.

"Go Mark. I'll stay awake. Don't worry." Collins said. I guess he saw me stop too. "Everything will be okay." he offered. It seemed more like a question though, but it still was comforting nonetheless.

Once I got out of the hospital, I raced back to the loft in fucking cold. I'd made it here in record breaking time, considering that I jogged back with no inhaler and no bike. But now I was both physically and mentally tired. This just wasn't my day.

Standing in the bathroom, I looked at my reflection in the mirror. The person in front of me looked tired and warn out. Like somebody who has gone to war and leaves his soul back at home. A robot of some sort perhaps? I peeked my head out of the bathroom and looked down the hallway. The cheap, two dollar clock illuminated the numbers seven thirty-one.

That means that I've been here for twenty nine minutes.

I put some eyedrops in my eyes and walked out of the bathroom. The stains from last night were still on the floor, but it wasn't exactly time to be Miss Suzy Homemaker. I went over to Roger's room and grabbed a few of his shirts and a pajama pants. Not that we have pajama pants here, that is. Whatever we sleep in either consists of something of Collins' or anything that has too many holes or is too small to wear in public.

He'd probably want to change out of that damn hospital gown, anyways - no matter what it was he changed into.

I grabbed my scarf and the spare spare key and my bag. I looked back at the clock.

Seven thirty two and I was out the door.

When I got to the floor that Roger was on, it was like my body stopped running on automatic.

The sudden realization that Roger could die right here, right now, in the fucking hospital hit me.

And there wasn't a single thing that I could do about it.


	3. Chapter 3

As soon as I walked into Roger's room, I felt Collins and Mimi's eyes inadvertently shifted to me.

Mimi stood up and gave me a hug. It was one of those hugs that you get when somebody's in the hospital. One of the ones that lasts too long because you're unsure of what's going to happen next. Mimi mumbled something that I didn't quite catch and put her face in my scarf. She sighed, smiled sadly, and sat back down next to Roger.

She looked as if she hadn't slept at all, not even a power nap. And as if she came straight from work to the hospital. She was wearing a torn pair of black leggings, a skirt, and on of Roger's rare sweaters. I noticed a rosary that was wrapped up tightly around her hand.

The doctor walked in, looking fresh and collected. Not like anybody here, might I add. His name was Dr. Scales.

"Good morning," he said, giving me a warm smile. I nodded my head, this wasn't exactly what I have in mind when I think of a good morning. "May I speak to Mr. Cohen for a moment?" Dr. Scales said, looking down and the clipboard. I stepped forward. "Outside, that is." he said, politely.

I don't know what made my feet move in the direction of the door, but they did.

I followed him into the room a little ways down the hallway. The room was smaller that the other waiting rooms, almost cramped in a sense. On two of the opposing walls, there were small couches on either wall. Crammed next to the door was a wastebasket, and directly in front of that was a large window, overlooking the busy city.

I just stood there. I think that Dr. Scales half expected me to sit down, or say "What's up Doc?" or something to that effect. I didn't.

"Before I start, I have to ask you a question." he began hesitantly. "For privacy reasons, of course." I nodded. "What's your relation to Mr. Davis?"

"I'm his roommate." I said quickly. The doctor raised his eyebrows slightly, and jotted something down on his clipboard.

"Okay. Well then. Mr. Davis has a severe case of dehydration and his T- cell count is one hundred and four." he said all in one breath. "To get his T-cell count back up, we can give him a stronger dose of Azidothymidine and Acyclovir right here. When he goes back, he'll also need to take Acyclovir in addition to the AZT. Acyclovir is just a newer, anti viral drug. And when paired with Azxidothymidine, it attacks viriods. And viriods are - "

"The smallest known particles that can replicate. I know all the terminology. I'm the one that takes care of Roger when he's sick. I know all this." I interjected. I hated everything being spelled out for me, even when it needed to be.

"That makes sense that you'd know all that...We'll also need to do a viral load test sometime after he wakes up -" he began.

"When will he be able to go home?" I asked.

I just wanted to go home, and lay down with him and pretend none of this ever happened. But I can't.

"At best, in a week. That's if he shows major improvement between now and then - if his T-cell count is up and he feels up to it. I'll be back in a little bit to check back in with him - I've got to schedule some regular tests and procedures to make sure that everything still checks out with him." Dr. Scales said. He was halfway out the door when he paused and stood awkwardly in the doorway. "This room is free to your personal use while Mr. Davis is in here." He walked back towards me. "Here's a key to get in and out of this room. Get some rest, Mr. Cohen. You're friend is going to be okay." Dr. Scales said walking out door.

I sat down on the floor in the corner and took off my glasses. I didn't expect Roger to be this sick. And I didn't have any money left after buying all the AZT. A measly fifty three dollars to my name, enough money for groceries for a month. I tried to add up the cost of the next round of AZT, and this new Acyclovir - they'd probably wipe out a whole paycheck, if not two. And then on top of that, all these tests and procedures had an amount -

"Mark, are you alright in there?"

It was Joanne. The Voice of Reason. She was like a female Collins, except she didn't go on about anarchy and her own theory of actual reality. She could tell me what to do, and -

Make everything better?

She opened the door a crack and peeked inside, offering me a weak smile. I put back on my glasses.

"I've got coffee. And a bagel. For you." she said, sliding into the room. She walked over me and sat down, putting a bag in between us. She handed me the coffee, an. "I'm sorry." she said. She shook her head in a way that made her brown curls shake slightly. "And I know that's the most awkward thing that I could say right now. But - "

I just sat there,sipping on the hot liquid that seemed to splash down my insides. I put the cup on the table.

We sat there in an awkward silence for a few moments. Outside of the window, you could hear the city going on as normal. It was like clockwork for everybody else. You could faintly hear cars and taxis beeping and people shouting. Up in here, it was like some kind of alternate universe, everything was different.

I took off my glasses once more and rested my head on my knees, facing Joanne. Today wasn't going to get any shorter, just sitting here in this room. I closed my eyes and exhaled. I didn't notice that I had been holding my breath.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Joanne offered. I battled the scales, whether or not I wanted to tell her I couldn't pay for shit, or that I thought that he could die here because of his T-cell count.

I shook my head no.

"I'm not going to let you stay in here all day. And Roger's probably going to wake up soon." she said. She stood up and held out both her hands. I sighed and took them, allowing her to help me up.

* * *

I said it'd be long. And next chapter I'm trying to make longer. Yeah. Thanks for reading! 


	4. Chapter 4

I slowly opened the door to Roger's room and quietly snuck outside. I spent the night there, relentlessly praying with the rosary that Mimi had left with Roger wrapped around my hand. It was more than a comfort that anything,I suppose.I hadn't prayed in ages. 

.Mimi stopped coming by after the first few night's Roger was here. Nobody could get here on the phone, and her apartment was empty. She stopped showing up for work. Nobody knows where she is again. Maybe I prayed for Mimi to come back. I couldn't deal with Roger on my own. Or perhaps I prayed for Roger, because what the hell am I going to do without him?

Walking down the hallway, I stopped and asked somebody working at the nurse's station what time it was.

Six twenty nine.

That meant that I could walk to the loft, take a shower, change, and get back to work.

"You're late!" some guy shouted at me as I chained up my bike in front of the Life Cafe.

He was standing there, in front of the big sign, smoking. It was the manager. I hadn't even bothered to learn his name yet, despite this being my third day of work.

"Sorry," I mumbled. I hurried inside, tying the bottom half of the apron around my waist. A stack of orders was shoved into my hand and along with a wet rag.

"These people need their food, and tables three and eleven need to be waited on," a loud, boisterous waitress told me. Her name was Sally. She reminded me of an older and heavier Maureen. Good thing Maureen isn't.

There was nothing worse than having to work with something I've gone so long without. It was almost unbearable to throw away the food that people left on their plates. It made me so angry that people who come here everyday for lunch can throw away half their meal and then at the loft all you can find is a can of cranberry sauce that's probably black because it's been expired for a year or so. That they have enough money to waste on lunch while we have to count pennies from the couch cushions to pay for the AZT.

I was beginning to think that being broke was better than having money. I'd rather be a starving friend than a rich sell-out.

"Look who's back," Roger said with his eyes partially closed. I thought he was asleep. "When the hell are you going to get me out of here?" I shut the door and sat in the chair beside his bed.

"I don't really know..." I began. I didn't really know what to say, that is. "Whenever you think you're ready." I told him.

"I think I'm ready now," Roger said. "I want to go home." his free hand went through his hair.  
I just sat there for a moment. Did that mean that he wanted to be with me? Or that he just wanted to go home?

"I'll ask the doctor when you can come home," I told Roger, not looking at him directly. I could already see the hurt look in his eyes, an almost half empty look.

I was ready for him to come home, I had a little bit of money in my pocket. I could easily put in my two days' notice and walk, since I had money to my name. I just wanted everything to get back to some sort of normal, whatever that was.

When Dr. Scales walked in, Roger gave me a knowing glance. I didn't know what to say, I froze up. I didn't want to seem too eager to take Roger home, yet I didn't want to seem like I just wanted to abandon him at the hospital.

"How much longer do I have to do this?" he asked the doctor once he looked up from his clipboard briefly.

"At least throughout the night. Unless you'd like to break it up into sessions?" Dr. Scales asked.

"No, no. I'd rather have it all done at once." Roger said hoarsely. I saw him nervously eye the needle that was stuck in his arm.

I found it quite peculiar that he didn't mind all the needles and syringes when he was a junkie, but now, they always seemed to irk him. I assume that's a good thing, that he really has changed after all.

"Tomorrow, we'll do another T-Cell count. Depending on those numbers...I'm sure they've improved," he added quickly. "Somebody will check up on you in a little bit." he said, walking out into the hallway.

"Can you close the door?" Roger asked quietly. He looked a bit discouraged. I got up and did so. I sat back down in the chair next to him, and scooted it a little closer to his bed. "Take me out of here, Mark. I don't want to be another AIDS statistic. Another drug using, bisexual man who dies of this and ends up being apart of the pariah group to the world." Roger said all in one breath. I lowered my head. "I don't want to die like Angel. "

"But he had us in the hospital." I mumbled.

"But he still died in vain. Anybody who dies of this will die in vain. I'd rather die in the loft than in the hospital." he choked out. "I'd rather be hurting and in pain than here day in and day out. At least at the loft -" he stopped suddenly. I didn't know what was wrong. His eyes looked glazed over, his pupils suddenly dilated. "It hurts," was the only thing he said.

I took his hand and tried to comfort him. He would experience a million more things that I will never have to go through because of this. And there wasn't any way to avoid it. I moved a few pieces of hair out of his face. His expression was unreadable. I saw his other hand slowly inch towards the morphine drip they'd given him and press down hard on it. In a few moments he was asleep.

"If there's any other way, I'll do anything for you." I crooned into his side an hour later. I couldn't stop crying. It was more like a quite sob than anything. I took his hand and placed it on top of my head, careful not to squeeze down too hard on the needle that was strategically placed there. I felt his hand gently smooth down my hair. I looked up, and he was still asleep. He smiled sadly to himself in his sleep. Maybe he was dreaming of life after this.

* * *

I'd like to say thanks for the reviews so far. & a big thanks to my beta - Tigg Pawns. Feedback is always wanted. 


	5. Chapter 5

Roger got out of the hospital a few weeks ago. His T-Cell count was still low, but he felt better despite the fact. The doctor sent him home with way too many pills that cost too much, but he's home, so I can't complain. 

"Let's go outside." Roger pressed on for the millionth time. I was sitting ontop of the kitchen counter, trying to label negatives. A dark room would have been preferable to this weather, but I take what I can get.

"It's hot out there baby," Mimi replied,running her hand absentmindedly through his hair. She'd finally came back. Even though I wanted to be angry at her, I couldn't bring myself to it. I suspected that she'd come back dead. She came back close enough to it, though.

_"Where have you been?" I whispered urgently to Mimi after Roger had gone to sleep in his room. Her eyes got big, and her hair was illuminated eerily in the moonlight._

_I hadn't seen her since Roger was first put in the hospital. Maureen had been out looking for her constantly, even going as far as Jersey because that's where somebody had seen her once. We put up flyers, filed a missing persons report -_

_"I was...Mark, I don't -" she managed to stammer._

_"Are you?" I said back. My words stayed in the air like tree swing in the dead of winter. It was more of a statement than a question, and I couldn't blame her. Collins had his marijuana, Joanne had her cases, and Maureen had her performances. If I didn't have my camera, or Roger, I sure as hell would have been using something, anything._

_I came closer to where she was sitting on the fire escape, looking at her eyes, trying to tell. They say you can tell a lot about a person by their eyes. She tacitly pushed up her sleeves, and even though there were no lights on in the loft, I could clearly see that she had been._

_Her arm reminded me of Roger after April had died. There were too many track marks to count. Her bronze skin was bruised and appeared purple and green. I could barely tell where one ended and another one began. She let her sleeve drop and almost instantaneously, she drew her knees up to her chest, and held herself tight._

_"I'm scared, Mark. I don't like this. We're supposed to be young and vibrant and energetic. Not sick and bedridden because of this stupid disease...They say that these are supposed to be the best days of your lives. But look at us. At me, at him. We're counting down the days until we die -"_

_"Mimi, don't say that." I said firmly. I didn't want to think about that._

_"But it's true!" she said urgently._

_"Well maybe I don't want to realize that, okay? Did you ever think about what Roger's going through? About how you just picked up and left and nobody knew where you were? We were worried. I didn't know what to say to Roger, so I didn't say anything. Hell, I don't even think I could have made up a legit lie if I had to. So when you want to want to talk about death and dying young, think about the people who you're going to leave behind." I said. My eyes stung from the angry tears I tried to hold back. I suddenly felt bad for lashing out at Mimi, who was dying just as fast as Roger._

_Awkwardly, I kneeled down and wrapped my arms around her. At first she stiffened, and then I felt her go rigid in my embrace. She put her arms around my neck and began to cry, almost uncontrollably yet silently. And the worst thing about it was that I couldn't imagine any words that would be of comfort._

Roger was dying and she was probably next, but on the street beneath us, nobody even turned on a light.  
He'd been saying that for the past three days and I finally gave in for some reason. I made him put on one of his worn sweaters, even though it was a warm summer evening, and we began the trek up to the roof. I dusted off the busted up recliner we'd stolen from the street below us and got him to sit down on it to catch his breath.

"Are you okay?" I asked Roger. Lately he'd been acting like an old man when nobody was looking. If I didn't know he was sick, I'd say he looked like he was dying. I could tell by the way you could hear him wince when he bent down into the sink to get some water for his AZT or how he'd get random bruises and lesions .

"Yeah, just help me up. It feels good out here."

"Yeah, it does."

Roger was acting strange. I don't know if it was because he finally was outside after being stuck in the loft for so long or what. But he was definitely acting strange. I looked at him again, taking a mental picture of him. I didn't know how much more time he'd have left. All of a sudden, a gentle breeze came around and he looked livelier than ever. His hair looked a wavier and healthy, his cheeks even seemed to have a hint of color in them. And he looked like he put on a few pounds. Then, the breeze stopped as fast as it had come in. And Roger looked sicklier than ever.

"It looks great out here tonight." he commented awkwardly. I could see his eyes brimmed with tears.

"Do you want to go back inside?" I questioned. He nodded. He was light enough for me to carry until we got to the door. He practically demanded that he be put down to at least walk to his bed. He'd always mumble something about "at least being able to walk to his fucking deathbed by himself", even though he'd grimace inwardly the whole forty seven steps it took to get there.

I helped him change into a pair of sweats and a raggedy flannel top that nobody would dare walk out of the loft in. Mimi came in and kissed him goodbye, with me sheepishly hanging around in the corner, waiting to give him his round of medicines. She'd work nights so she could be with him during the day. I gave him the AZT and a cup of chamomile tea, and stayed with him until he drank it all. When he was finished, I took the cup and closed his door gently.

I want to the counter and began counting out the medicine for the next day. There were so many things the doctor put him on. They had to be taken in different ways, at different times. They cost a lot, too, but I didn't really mind. I went back to working at the diner when I could, and I even picked up a juvenile paper route to do in the wee hours of the morning.

After I was finished, I went back into his room, just to make sure that he was doing okay. Laying beside him in bed was his journal, the one that everybody and anybody avoided. I remember the first time that I was even tempted to look in it I couldn't bring myself to it. But now, it lay open and inviting as a cup of lemonade and a few cookies with Roger when I was seven.

The page was graffitied with Roger's handwriting and grotesque sketches in the margins. I picked up the journal and thumbed through it, catching glimpses of various entries.

_"I'm getting sicker..."_

_"Nobody knows where she is, we've put up flyers and filed a missing persons report. God, I hope we find her soon, before it's too late..."_

_"Today I left for Santa Fe. For what, I don't know. But I hope when I come back, Iwill be able to write something good, instead of my old shit..."_

_"Mimi's got AIDS, too..."_

_"I met Mimi Marquez today, and I think..."_

_"I can't think straight. I want it. I need it. I'm going out to get some."_

_"AIDS. Trading in life for death..."_

_"April has AIDS. That means, that I am HIV,too..."_

_"I met this most amazing girl at a show last night. Her name is April. I brought her back her last night and we..."_

_"Tonight's our first performance at CBGB's..."_

They wereconciseand to the point. On the backs of pages were songs he'd written. He could have enough material to never have to worry about money for AZT for a millions years, but that's not what he's about, and I can't blame him. He doesn't want to become a yuppie just like Benny. I flipped back to the last page he'd written on and read aloud, in a whisper.

_"This entry might be my last. I don't want to write about my last days. That'll make whoever finds this and reads it feel even worse. So to whoever who finds this, you're lucky I don't see you. Let Collins andMimi and Mark read it, even though it's probably one of you who's reading it now. And when your finished, I want you to tear up all the pages in a billion little pieces, and let them float around Alphabet City. I'm not really all that religious,but if there is a heaven...well, I know somebody who should be there now. Instead of writing about the insuppressible coughs and fevers and the constant cold that shivers up my spine, I'm going to write one last song before I die. I could say this song's about heaven, but really, it's about what's just past Alphabet City, just out of my reach._

_How you found me out I still never understand,  
Thoughts you can't take with you when you go.  
You were waving flags that bare the colors  
Of your love I didn't know:  
Orange for the vineyards,  
Blue is for the rivers,  
Green goes like a hillside covered now,  
White is not surrender  
Despite what you've been told;  
It's clouds of hope  
That fall on you now, save you now.  
Fall on you, fall on you now, save you now._

One time we met, you were outside  
Floating in the forest. I placed my stigmata  
On your hands. Little flowers that you have sown  
Show people you have known  
that I am love and  
Fall on you now, save you now.  
Fall on you, fall on you now, save you now.

And fall on you now, save you now.  
Fall on you, fall on you now, save you now.  
Fall on you now, save you now.  
Fall on you, fall on you now, save you now."

**_A/N: That's it, I guess. I'm sorry it's taken so long, but with school, writer's block, and a lack of muses, I semi gave up on this story. Thatnk you for all the reviews on this story, you have no idea what feedback means to me. _**

**_The song Roger writes is actually by Denison Witmer entitled "Little Flowers". _**


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